


Summer Night

by milollye



Category: Band Sinister - K. J. Charles
Genre: Canon Compliant, Father-Son Relationship, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Multi, Pining, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Canon, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:00:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22353739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milollye/pseuds/milollye
Summary: The Murder spends a sultry night in Corvin's London townhouse as they explore their feelings for each other and their place in the world around them.
Relationships: Lord Corvin/John Raven, Lord Corvin/John Raven/Philip Rookwood
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	Summer Night

John Raven sat on the plush velvet sofa with a drawing board balanced on his knee. He wasn’t particularly attentive to his work; it was a hot night, despite the windows thrown wide against the stifling London heat, and the gilt embroidery on the cushions scratched against his sweat-dampened skin through his shirt. But he kept the pencil in hand, idly correcting a line here or there as the mood struck him. 

He was, ostensibly, drawing his friend, Philip Rookwood, who sat across from him in a wingback chair of even more ostentatious embellishment than the sofa, engrossed in a book. John didn’t know what it was, and he didn’t much care. Phil read constantly, which made him a good subject for portrait study. In this he was distinctly unlike the third member of their set, known officially as Lord Octavian. V, as his friends called him, squirmed mercilessly when he was asked to sit still for even the time it took his valet to shave him. 

For now, though, V was mostly still, stretched languidly on his stomach across the rug in front of the hearth. There was no fire, of course, but he nevertheless very much gave the impression of a cat stretching out in a pool of warm sunshine. He had his arms folded underneath his head, one cheek resting on his forearm, his vibrantly red hair tousled and mussed, and a little slick with sweat at the nape. His legs were bent at the knees, his bare feet kicking idly in the air by Philip’s chair. When one foot got near his book, Philip batted it away without looking up. 

“It’s hot,” V groaned, his voice muffled in his arms. “How can you read when it’s this damned hot?”

“The same way I can read when it rains, or when it is cold,” Philip answered without looking up. 

V let out a dubious snort. “At least tell me you’re reading something interesting this time.”

“Depends on your idea of ‘interesting,’ I suppose.”

V shifted his position so he could look behind him without raising his head, and he nudged his toes against Philip’s inner thigh, brushing his foot against well-fitted breeches. “In other words, it isn’t interesting in the slightest,” he translated.

John watched his friends with wry amusement. This same argument played out with them more or less on a daily basis. V hated not being the center of attention, and he was immediately jealous of anything that captured his friends’ interest away from himself. Not that that was ever much in doubt. John stretched his own stockinged foot forward to touch V’s lower back, stroking a faint circle through his sweat-dampened shirt.

“Leave him be, V,” John urged. “If he prefers books to you, that’s his own damn loss.” 

That broke a smile out of V, and he leaned up on his elbows. “And what of you, my love?” he looked up at John, who felt his fingers start to go numb. V was  _ lovely _ , and he very well knew it. Apart from his red hair, which he despised, he had smooth, olive skin, not pale, but somewhat prone to freckle; a square jaw, thin face, long nose, and eyes a soft green-gold color, usually lit with mischief, as they were now. Half the young ladies of London had lost their hearts, if not their virtue, to those eyes, and no small number of young men, either. 

“What of me?” John asked, his voice low and deep as it always was when V looked like  _ that _ . “Am I not paying you enough attention?”

“Not nearly enough,” V shook his head. He reached for John’s foot and brought it to his lips, kissing the arch of his foot through his stocking. “Put the drawing away.”

John didn’t need to be told twice. He  _ loved _ this imperious tone in V’s voice. He knew why Phil was brushing him off, of course, but that didn’t mean he understood  _ how _ . John set the drawing on the table beside him and patted his knee. “Come here,” he urged. 

V obeyed, picking himself up gracefully from the rug with only a brief glance at Phil. He moved to the couch and seated himself on John’s lap, across his knees, with his back to the arm of the couch. 

John wrapped his arms around V’s waist, pulling him close in spite of the heat. V went relaxed in his arms, and reached for what was left of John’s cravat to tug it away. They were none of them much dressed anymore, on a warm day like today and in for the night, though Phil was the closest to decent. He’d shed his coat, but sat reading in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves, his cravat still more or less in order. John had lost coat and shoes the moment he’d come upstairs, and his shirt was partly open at the neck, his cravat loosened at his throat. 

V wore even less than that. John hadn’t seen him undress, but he wore only breeches, open at the knees, and his shirt, the soft linen loose and breezy around his thin frame where it wasn’t pressed to his skin with sweat. He nestled in, mouthing a soft kiss against John’s lips.

“Tell me how you love me,” he murmured.

John felt a possessive growl rise up from deep in his gut, but tamped it down mercilessly. V wanted to be loved and adored, to a point. But when he spoke like that…

“I positively  _ adore _ you, my red-haired devil,” John purred, catching V’s face in his hands. “As you well know.”

“My hair isn’t red,” V corrected. “It’s russet.”

“You do realize russet just means red, don’t you?” Phil remarked over the top of his book.

“Can’t a fellow have any romance in his life?” V protested, shifting in John’s arms to look back at Phil. “Whoever heard of a red-haired lothario? It’s preposterous.”

“My dearest, half of London has heard of one, since you’ve broken on the scene.” Philip folded his book in his lap, his finger holding his place. “Your hair is lovely, but you could call it turquoise, and that wouldn’t make it any less red.”

V scowled at Phil, whose own fair complexion and silvery blonde hair were very much the stuff of poetic embellishments. He didn’t mention it, John suspected because of the grief that Phil’s coloring had always caused him. Phil bore a striking resemblance, not to the man whose name he bore, but to his mother’s lover, and though this circumstance worked largely in his favor aesthetically, it had nevertheless occasioned him some hardship. John’s own deep brown skin and close cropped black curls brought him insults or at best stares and uncomfortable looks almost on a daily basis, though not nearly as much as if he hadn’t been armored by V’s wealth and status. 

Considering his friends’ situations, a more considerate man than V might have refrained from lamenting what he perceived as defects in his own appearance when they had both endured so much hardship from their own looks. But that was not V’s way. 

John nipped at V’s neck. “I  _ love _ your red hair,” he growled fervently. Over V’s shoulder he watched Phil pick up his book again, though he doubted Phil was actually reading anymore.

“A fact which shows an abysmal want of taste on your part, a most distressing quality in a painter,” V said, tipping his head to the side to give John better access. He let out a low groan of contentment as John licked and sucked at his neck. 

“You know I’m right,” John said firmly. “Admit it.”

“I--ah!--know nothing of the sort,” V protested, squirming happily as John’s explored his throat with his mouth.

“You do so. And I will  _ make _ you say it, on your knees if I have to.” John’s hands clamped around V’s hips, pulling him sharply against him.

V’s eyes fluttered closed in obvious pleasure. “I love it when you threaten me, my darling…” He shifted on John’s lap, pressing his arse back against the growing bulge in John’s breeches. 

“ _ My God…” _ John groaned, shutting his eyes a moment to collect himself. Making love with V was like standing at the brink of a precipice; it was breathtaking, but one misstep could send you crashing down at any moment. John was an expert at maneuvering the difficult terrain; he and V had been lovers for the last two years, and friends for their entire lives, or all of his John could remember.

Opening his eyes, John tugged V’s shirt out from his breeches and over his head, tossing the linen aside carelessly to expose his bare skin. V was unspeakably lovely, and changing almost by the day. His shoulders were a little broader than John was used to thinking of them, the impression of his shape a little more rectangular, his chest sparsely grown with fine, soft hair, every bit as red as the hair on his head that caused him no end of worry.

V’s hands were on him, one cradling his scalp while the other pushed open his shirt, fingers tracing softly across his skin. John shivered, covering V’s hand with his own. V draped across him, murmuring kisses against his ear.

“You know how I adore you, do you not?” He nipped at his ear, sucking ever so gently on the lobe. “You are my light, my  _ everything. _ ” John let out a little growl of desperate need. V always spoke this way, no matter who he was with, though even so it never ceased to get John’s blood up. Something seemed different tonight, however, like his need was rawer, more visceral. A release of pain rather than a seeking of pleasure. 

Ultimately, it made no difference. John was his for the taking, whatever he wanted. 

He took hold of V’s hips, shifting his knees to either side of John’s thighs and then pushing him up. V leaned in, bracing himself with a hand on John’s shoulder as John unbuttoned his breeches to V’s approving purr.

John had been with a few men other than V over the last two years. Without fail, all of them had a little moment’s hesitation as they bared themselves to another man’s eyes and touch. No matter how experienced or sure they were, each act carried a minute hesitation, a thoughtfulness that had to be overcome again and again.

V had never had that, even at sixteen. He  _ belonged _ naked; his sexuality was raw and innocent, something pure and perfect and robust. His prick, when John revealed it, was hard and sure. He was not large, though plenty big enough to maintain his reputation as a darling of the ladies. He seldom took the male part with other men, at least in John’s experience. It would have been a crime against nature if he had. For above all, V had an arse made to be fucked. 

V wriggled out of his breeches with practiced ease, tossing them down on the rug. John gripped V’s arse with strong hands, fingers digging into the taut skin as he squeezed his cheeks apart. 

“Mmm--you want me?” V asked.

“You know I do,” John answered in a low growl, mouthing kisses to the crease of V’s groin. “I  _ always _ want you.”

“So lovely and predictable,” V murmured. “Oil?”

“On the mantle.”

“Shit.” V slumped down onto John’s lap. He rested his head against John’s shoulder, his breathing heavy. “I should get some more. Keep some at hand anywhere in the house we might be when we want it.”

“You already have some in every room,” John reminded him. “Won’t the servants start to get suspicious?”

V just shrugged, swinging his leg dramatically over to get off John’s lap. “Cornelius has replaced most of my staff with his cronies anyway. He says we could have an orgy up here and they wouldn’t much care.” He crossed the four steps to the mantle to retrieve the bottle, pausing, John suspected, to give him time to admire him from behind. John’s fingers itched for a pencil.

“Who the devil is Cornelius?” Phil asked, and John started. He had almost forgotten Phil was still in the room, he’d been so enraptured with V.

“My man, you know,” V waved his hand. “You’ve met him dozens of times.”

Phil frowned. “I thought your valet’s name was Scrope.”

“ _ Romance _ , my love,” V said emphatically. “I could hardly be attended by an ‘Albert Scrope.’ It would absolutely intolerable.” 

“And so you’ve rechristened the poor man Cornelius?” Phil’s eyebrow shot up.

“For what V’s paying him, I suspect V could start calling him ‘Lucifer’ and he wouldn’t object,” John pointed out. 

V climbed back onto John’s lap and pressed the bottle into his hand. He sat up on his knees again and leaned forward to kiss John with slow hunger.

John forgot about the valet and the oil as V’s mouth claimed him. Unsurprisingly, V was a  _ masterful _ kisser. He ought to be; John very much doubted there were many men his age who had had so much practice; or double his age, for that matter. V had always been promiscuous, but these past few months since he’d set up his own household in London the numbers of his conquests had increased rather dramatically. Not that John was counting; Phil might be, but that was his business. John would not disturb himself in the least how many beds V shared, as long as his was still one of them.

V’s tongue flashed against his lips, parting them to deepen the kiss. John shut his eyes and drank in every touch. Working by feel, he uncapped the bottle and poured some into his palm. He slid his hand between V’s legs and flattened his palm against his crease and began slowly working one finger inside him.

V stretched against him, a low groan of pleasure escaping him. John drank in the sounds. It was damned good fortune V was the son of a Viscount; he had no sense of discretion, and was apparently incapable of being quiet in his pleasure. John was supremely grateful; V’s noises when he loved were a work of art.

“You like that?” John moaned, shifting his grip to probe him deeper. “You’re just a tuppenny whore under all your finery, aren’t you?” V was writhing against him, groaning softly as he pushed himself against John’s finger.

“He is not,” Phil said from across the room. “Whores charge for their work, remember?”

John laughed softly, adding a second finger to the first. “Indeed. V is an  _ artist _ .”

“You talk too much,” V cut him off with a kiss. “Give me your cock.”

John’s eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with desire. V smelled incredible--the warm musk of his sweat mingled with the slightly perfumed fragrance of the oil, deep and heady in the stifling heat. He pulled his hand free and slicked his cock. 

“All yours, V,” John murmured, meeting his gaze.

V draped his arms around John’s neck, one wrist crossed bonelessly over the other as he shifted them into position and slowly settled down, letting gravity do the work.

“Mmm… my dearest one,” he moaned, nipping at John’s lips. “Good God, how I want you.”

“You have me,” John said without a moment’s hesitation. It was true enough. “I am yours, V. Now and always.”

John shut his eyes, just feeling V moving against him. He worked his way further down on John’s cock with a gentle rocking motion, pushing him in deeper with every motion until at last they were skin on skin. Their overheated bodies with slick with sweat as V seated himself with a low groan.

John ran his hands slowly up and down V’s back, giving him a moment to adjust. V nestled in at John’s neck, tongue fluttering against sensitive skin. He had his eyes shut, drinking in the pleasure of V’s body on his, when he felt the couch shift as a weight settled beside him, and another pair of lips met his. His lips curled into a smile against Phil’s.

“Finished your book?” he murmured, one hand splayed against V’s back while the other reached for the buttons on Phil’s waistcoat.

“I’m not made of stone,” Phil pointed out, leaning in to claim a kiss from V as John began to undress him. 

John gave a Phil a knowing smile as he watched his two lovers kiss. V’s face was relaxed, with that drowsy contented look he always got when he had a cock in him. He had known Phil would join them eventually. No one who still had balls could sit there and watch V making love in front of him and not feel compelled to join in. 

Phil pulled away after a moment to focus on getting more of his clothes off, and V leaned his head against John’s shoulder to admire them. 

“You’re so lovely, the pair of you,” he murmured. “Darkness and light.” He was barely moving now, just gently rocking back and forth on John’s lap in slow, sensual movements. “I adore you both.” 

After disposing of his shirt, Phil laid a hand on John’s chest where his shirt laid open, as though to pacify him for the intrusion while he kissed V soundly. V twisted a little to the side as their lips met, wholly engrossed in his two lovers and very much in his element. V could be with five at once, John was certain, and still make every one feel wanted and adored.

When Phil tried to reach between them for V’s prick, John stopped him. “Wait, I have an idea,” he murmured, pushing Phil away gently. He gripped V’s face in both hands and kissed his lips softly. “Turn around for me, love? Back to me.”

V nodded and lifted himself carefully off John’s cock, rising onto his knees to turn around. V balanced himself on one knee in the new position, reaching between his legs to hold John’s cock as he settled down onto it again. John groaned softly and slipped his arms around V’s waist, locking him in place.

“Now,” John nodded to Phil. 

“Mmm, lovely,” Phil agreed, getting slowly to his knees. John shut his eyes, resting his forehead on V’s shoulder. He wasn’t moving much, just a little rhythmic motion of his hips to keep some friction on his cock. He watched over V’s shoulder as Phil took V’s beautiful prick in his mouth and suckled him.

V gave a soft whimper of pleasure at this dual onslaught, his fingers twining in Phil’s fine blond hair. John bit V’s earlobe, his breath ragged and hot on V’s neck. 

V twisted his head around, searching for John. “Kiss me, my love. I need you--want you.” His body writhed with pleasure, between John inside him and Phil’s mouth on his prick, his long fingers clenched tight in Phil’s hair. John could tell he was close. He kissed him hard and deep, biting his lip as he thrust his hips up into him. There wasn’t much room for him to move in their current position, but he managed small hard thrusts, their bodies gliding together from the slick of their sweat in the overheated room.

Phil was taking him down deep now, long practiced sucks from root to tip. He had his own prick out as well, and was stroking himself with equal fervor. 

V let out a startled cry, his body going rigid as he exhaled sharply against John’s mouth. John caught his chin in his hand and held him like that, half twisted around backwards, as the climax took him. 

Phil raised off him a moment later, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and looking entirely pleased with himself. He had finished his own needs, evidently, at the same time, and was still tucking himself away as he leaned in to kiss V and then John. 

“Oh, my dearest,” V murmured, stroking Phil’s cheek with the back of his hand as he lay limp and boneless against John’s chest. “You are exquisite, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” Phil agreed with a small smile. “I’m going to go wash up.

When he was gone, John tightened his grip on V’s chin. “Not sure I’m finished with you yet,” he murmured, his voice low and hard with desire.

V gave him a sly grin and moved his body provocatively on John’s cock. “I should hope not. It would be a sad day indeed when I could not bring you with me.”

John gave a shuddering exhale. He and V had become more, one might say,  _ vigorous _ , in their lovemaking of late, decidedly rougher than Phil’s gentle touch was entirely comfortable with. John suspected that was why he had excused himself, or one of the reasons anyway, and it was something they would have to address at some point, but for now he was happy enough to have V to himself. 

“My red-headed harlot,” John sighed. “Up,” he patted V’s bottom. 

V climbed off him carefully, wincing as John’s prick slipped out of him. John took another moment just to admire his body, tall and lean, eyes twinkling with mischief. 

John glanced around the room. “Against the mantle,” he nodded towards the fireplace. “Hands on the wall.”

V jumped to obey, taking the stated position and spreading his legs side to stick out his arse invitingly. John smiled to himself, taking his time getting up from the couch. His skin felt cool and clammy without the warmth of V’s body, and he peeled off his shirt and used it to mop the sweat from his neck before tossing it aside.

“You going to fuck me already, or write a book about it?” V ground out, hands pressing into the brick.

“Patience,” John teased. “I think we’ll leave the scholarship to Phil for now, if that’s all right with you.” He stopped long enough to pour a little more oil over his cock before approaching V from behind. He gripped V’s hips, fingers digging into the firm flesh. “You sure this is what you want?”

“I want your cock in me, not a fucking oration,” V ground out, pressing back against John without moving his hands from the mantle.

John grinned. He  _ loved _ it when V got demanding. “Temper to match your hair, I see,” he murmured, positioning himself with one hand while the other still dug into V’s hip. He didn’t hesitate, but pushed back into him in one steady thrust. V was well stretched, of course, and so his passage was only pleasantly tight without his having to force himself in or coax V’s muscles into admitting him. V inhaled sharply, his rib cage expanding visibly with the breath. 

John fucked him. Hard and fast, the taut muscles of his abdomen and hips protesting the exertion, until the wet slap of his balls and V’s arse was the only sound in the room. V cried out sharply as his hands slipped on the brick and he caught himself with a forearm to keep from smashing his face into the wall. “Christ,  _ John _ …” he moaned into his arm.

John shifted his stance back a step, putting all of his weight against V and the place where their bodies met. He let out a low grunt with each thrust now, balancing himself with a hand on V’s lower back while the other pulled his hips closer. There were already fingertip bruises on V’s side from the last time they’d done this, just starting to fade. John liked seeing the marks he’d left on V’s skin. He wasn’t possessive--one couldn’t really be possessive of V, not without going mad at least--but he liked seeing it all the same.

V was whimpering now, pushing back against John with every thrust. John took him harder, slamming into him with all the strength he could muster until his climax hit him with the same furious intensity. He saw stars around his vision and felt weak with it, enough so that he had to steady himself against V’s back for a long moment for fear he would fall over. 

“You all right?” he panted after several long moments.

“Mmm,” V nodded. “But we might need to skip a day with this. Now and then.”

John chuckled, pressing a kiss to V’s back as he carefully slid out of him. V tasted of sweat and sex. He tucked himself away and fastened his breeches before collapsing back on the couch. 

V stayed where he was a moment longer and then stood, stretching out the kinks in his back. “Maybe we should reverse the order next time. First you fuck me brainless and then Phil suck me into a drowsy stupor.”

“It’s a plan,” John chuckled. “Always happy to assist.”

V plucked a long silk dressing gown where it lay draped over a chair and slipped his arms into it, but he didn’t bother to tie it. “Brandy?” he offered, taking a crystal decanter from the sideboard.

“If you like,” John nodded, leaning his head back on the back of the couch. He was tired and weak, the pleasant sort of exhausted he never found anywhere else. He glanced up long enough to take the glass from V. “Thanks.” 

V paced back to the fireplace, leaning his hand on the mantle as he stared in the distance. He looked uncharacteristically serious tonight, and John suspected he knew why. He set his glass down. “He’s in love with you.”

“Yes,” V said quietly, without turning around or asking him who he meant. “I did tell him not to.”

“Not sure it works that way, V,” John said with a sad smile. 

“No, probably not,” V agreed. “I suppose that’s why he’s making himself scarce tonight.”

“Well, that and he isn’t fond of watching me drill you into the wall.”

That coaxed a smile from V. “His loss.”

“Indeed.”

V tossed back the measure of brandy with a grimace. “You think he’ll be all right? If we just give him time?”

“I think so,” John agreed. 

“You don’t think that I should--try?”

John’s brow wrinkled in a sharp frown. “ _ What? _ ”

“To be what he wants,” V explained. “Lord knows he deserves a proper lover. You both do.” V sighed, and uncapped the decanter again.

John got to his feet and moved to stand behind V, hands on his waist. “V,  _ don’t _ . You are exactly the lover I want, just as you are. I would no sooner ask you to stop fucking than I would give up painting.”

V gave him a small smile. “My special talent.”

“One of many,” John nodded.

V pressed a quick, chaste kiss to his lips and turned back to pour himself another drink. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter, because I’m not going to give you up for him in any case. The rest of the world can go to the devil, but the two of you are the other halves of my soul. I don’t want to lose either of you.”

“You won’t,” John assured him. “Just give him time. He’ll get better.”

“I hope so,” V nodded. He stepped out onto the open balcony, his silk gown catching a barely perceptible breeze and moving softly around him. It was dark out, and the balcony opened onto a private garden with high walls. The scent of flowers was cloying in the warm night. V stood with his back to the door, his shoulders tense where he leaned on the railing. 

John watched him a long moment, unsure if perhaps he wanted to be alone. V almost never sought out solitude, usually preferring to take one or more of his lovers to bed with him even, but something seemed oddly vulnerable about his bearing tonight, and John wasn’t sure what it was. It almost made him feel like an intruder, spying on V in his private moments. 

He had just turned to go when V’s voice brought him back. 

“We’re leaving in the morning.”

John turned back, surprise clear on his face. “We’re leaving? Where? Why?” The three of them had taken residence at V’s new London townhouse more than six months ago, and V had not once expressed any desire to return to the country, or anywhere else. 

V seemed to tense inward on himself. “Wrayton Harcourt,” he said quietly, still gripping the railing. “Home.”

_ This is home _ , John wanted to say, but something in V’s manner held him back. He joined him on the balcony, resting a hand on V’s shoulder. “Why?”

V didn’t answer. He seemed incapable of it, his face set in obvious pain. Instead, he pulled a crumpled letter from the pocket of his dressing gown and handed it to John without meeting his eyes.

Frowning, John took the letter and read it. It was brief, no more than three or four lines in a neat hand, addressed by the Viscount’s secretary. 

“Lord Corvin is dead,” V said quietly, breaking his terse silence. 

John felt anger and grief welling up inside him. He had met Lord Corvin, the man who had been his legal owner for more than ten years, only a handful of times, but he despised the man more than he could ever imagine hating anyone. A great part of him was glad at the news; there was certainly no question the world was a better place without Lord Corvin in it, but the pain and grief evident in every muscle of his friend’s body was enough to hold him back.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

V turned around, seeming to come back to the present. “That he’s dead? I’m not.”

“He was your father,” John pointed out. “You should grieve for him.”

“I never knew him,” V shook his head. “I lived under his roof my entire life, and I barely even saw him. I used to think--when we were little, I thought maybe it was just he didn’t like children. That when I was older he would want a relationship with me. I suppose that’s part of why I was so eager to be educated at home, besides not wanting to leave you behind. But he never did.”

John felt like his heart was breaking. In all the years he’d known him, V had never spoken of his father this way. He had laughed away his father’s inattention, shrugged it off, but never let on even to his closest friends that he might have been affected by it. 

“He was a dried up, ignorant old sod, and now can rot in the dirt where he belongs,” John said fervently, startling a laugh out of V.

“Yes, I suppose so. To be honest I’m not sure why this is affecting me so,” V admitted. “Lord knows he was nothing to me.”

“You deserved so much better,” John put his hand on V’s. V twined their fingers together and rested his head on John’s shoulder. He slipped his free hand around John’s waist. “I have better. You and Phil--you are my family, all I need.”

John pressed a kiss to the top of V’s head. “And you have us.” They stayed like that for a long while, the faint breeze cool after the heat of the room. 

“I suppose there are worse fathers,” V admitted without moving away or even lifting his head. “He never beat me, or scolded me. Hell, I might have welcomed it if he had. I was his fucking heir, his only child, and he never gave a shit to notice I existed. I’m not sure he even recognized me when he saw me.”

John tightened his grip, trying to force back the anger welling up inside him. “You don’t have to go back,” he said.

“The funeral?” V reminded him. 

“Let them bury him without you.”

V snorted. “I suppose I have been scandalizing the  _ ton _ this year, I may as well do it properly.”

“There you go,” John flashed a sad smile, even if V didn’t see it. “Let the rest of the world go to the devil. You have us.”

V lifted his head and gave him a grateful smile. “It is a pleasant thought. But--I suppose I must see to the estate. It’s all mine now, I suppose.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to live there,” John pointed out.

V looked startled at this. “Oh, good Lord, no. I’m not going to stay in Derbyshire. But I’m sure they’ll want me to sign things, meet with my father’s solicitor, that sort of thing.” He shook his head. “Christ, I’m a fucking  _ Viscount _ now. What is the world coming to when  _ I’m _ a member of the peerage?”

“A damned sight better than it was yesterday, I’ll wager,” John growled, pulling back to meet V’s eyes. “Better you in the House of Lords than Lord Corvin.”

“I am Lord Corvin.”

“You know what I mean,” John pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Do I need to fuck you senseless again?”

“Couldn’t hurt,” V flashed a weak smile. “No, I’m just thinking too much.”

“I can see that.”

“I just--I don’t want to be responsible for other people. I’m eighteen years old, and I’m barely able to take care of myself. Only now I’ve got lands and titles and dependents and a seat in fucking Parliament.” V sighed heavily. “I’ve been trying not to think about it all day.”

“You--” John caught V’s arm as he turned to go inside. “No wait, look at me, V. You’ve taken care of me since we were four years old. You’re the most responsible, prudent, and kindest person I know.”

“Evidently your society has been rather limited.”

“Shut up. You are more than capable of taking care of yourself, because you’ve already been doing it,” John said firmly. “To the devil with Parliament. Lords shouldn’t have a seat handed to them anyway, you and I both know that. Your father didn’t sit in the House of Lords. He barely left Derbyshire, that I’m aware of.”

“I’d like to be a bit better than my father.”

“And you  _ are _ . V, this doesn’t change anything, not really. You have more money now, and you’ll have even more matrons throwing their daughters at you. That’s it. You’re no different than you’ve always been.”

V considered this, his posture slowly relaxing a little in John’s embrace. “With the reputation Phil and I have been building this season, they’ll be locking their daughters away from me soon.”

“There you go,” John grinned. “Good to have a goal to work towards.”

“And people can stop calling me Octavian,” V added. “Corvin will do well enough.”

“That’s it, Crow,” John pushed a wisp of hair over V’s ear. “Just give it time.”

V put his arms around John and leaned his head against his chest, breathing in slowly. “Thank you. You make everything better.”

John held him like that for a long while, stroking his back through the silk in slow circles. He wondered if it was possible, in twenty years, or fifty, if he could ever get enough of holding V, Corvin, in his arms. Just now, this hot summer night with the smell of sweat and sex and flowers, he didn’t think it was possible.


End file.
